


Repairing A Breach

by orphan_account



Series: Tight Pants & Maximum Angst 'Verse [7]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dirk Gets Therapy And Hates It The Whole Time, Hal came out to have a good time and is feeling incredibly attacked right now, Kanaya just kind of wanted to embroider in peace and quiet but then someone had to make it awkward, Multi, Rose Is The Therapist And Loves It The Whole Time, disassociation cw, established relationships - Freeform, frank discussion of puppets and sexuality, minor hurt/comfort, suicidal ideation and general depression cw, unresolved parental issues making things awkward all around
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 06:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14302467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It's seven years since the game ended. Around four since Dirk and Hal stumbled into their near constantly vacillating relationship.After a particularly stressful discussion, Hal managed to successfully convince Dirk that perhaps, he would be well served by seeking out professional help.Problem is, the only professional remotely qualified to help him out is one of the people Dirk has been resolutely avoiding since they first made awkward eye contact.Rose is entirely too much like Dirk for his comfort, and he hasn't exactly endeared himself to her with his lack of communication. Her wife isn't too happy with him either - Or Hal, for that matter.So.Let's talk about puppets.





	1. Chapter 1

“So first of all, father-”

 

“Oh my god. Do not call me that.”

 

Rose makes a note on her clipboard as she watches Dirk squirm. He would make a pink turtle proud with how determinedly he's trying to withdraw into his torso.

 

“Would you prefer, da-”

 

“I can just leave, you know. I don't want to be here. I could just get up and walk out the door.”

 

Rose makes another note, sets down her clipboard, and tents her fingers.

 

“Dirk, then.”

 

“I knew this was a bad idea.” Dirk stands up, runs his hands through his hair. Freezes, realizes the catastrophic result this has had on his immaculately styled 'do, and sits back down. “Look. I don't think you want to be here any more than I do, so how about we make this as perfunctory and painless as possible? We get through an hour, I go outside and tell Hal that sorry, bro, this crashed harder than a toddler after a sugar high, we write off ever doing this again.”

 

Rose blinks, then smiles.

 

“Dirk. Why would you ever think that I don't want to be here?”

 

“Yeah, see, I knew you'd- What.”

 

She sits up, primly adjusting the line of her skirt. Her eyes – so much like Roxy's, shit's fuckin' weird – gleam with what could easily be entertainment or sheer malice as she smiles.

 

“My dude, I have been waiting for this moment, for, oh...” Rose opens a cabinet next to her chair, retrieves a small black book, flips through it, and then taps a page. “About, seven years, five months, seven days.” She snaps the book shut, sets it down, and the smile grows. “I had rather thought that during that time, we would have exchanged a conversation about things other than the weather or how bright it is at whichever mandated social gathering we happened to be attending.” A shrug. “But I understand if you weren't ready to face your responsibilities, paternal or otherwise.”

  
  
Malice. Definitely malice. Malice dripping like molasses with each word.  
  


 

“Uh, I-”

 

“I'm not _angry,_ Dirk. Just disappointed.”

 

“I thought I was supposed to be the parental figure here.” A flippant response to try and gain some ground back as sweat beads on his forehead. This was precisely why he had been avoiding her since the moment they'd gotten established on the fresh planet with plenty of space to hide. This shit right here.

 

“Let us take a moment, for the first time in this session, to be real as fuck. Our genetic situation is entirely screwed up, and more than a little uncomfortable if you think about it for more than a moment. I'm not actually going to ask you to step into the role of fatherhood.”

 

“Thank fu-”

 

“For one thing, it's clear that you have no business raising anyone. And for another I imagine I would get more emotional engagement out of a rock I found in a field somewhere.”

 

“Okay, wow.”

 

“Am I wrong?” She picks up her pen, twirls it between her fingers.

 

“I mean-”

 

“Exactly.” Rose points the pen at him, and Dirk feels a chill through his spine. “So, my job, Dirk. Is to help fix that. Like Gepetto before me, I must craft you into a simulacrum of a functioning human being that may, one day, fool people into thinking it’s the real thing. Perhaps, in time, you can _become_ the real thing.”

Rose leans forward and claps, startling Dirk into a white knuckled grip on the edge of his chair.

 

“Let's talk about puppets, motherfucker.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“So.” Hal eventually says, setting down the magazine he'd been idly thumbing through. Kanaya turns her attention from her embroidery to the android, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Most people follow one word with other words in order to begin a conversation, much like I am doing now. Did you have further insight or were you just commenting on my current activity?”

 

Hal laughs, circuits flashing.

 

“I did, actually. I was going to ask if you think it's going well.”

 

Kanaya's lips purse. She turns to face the door of Rose's office, which bears a silver plaque with an engraving in a flowery script.

 

_Roses are red_

_Freud was a hack_

_Once you come in_

_You can't turn back_

 

“I don't know. I can't hear.”

 

“Neither can I.” He frowns. “Is the double airlock array really neccesary?”

 

“Rose deeply values patient confidentality. Given that a substantial portion of her clients are trolls, ensuring sessions are not audible from the waiting room was a priority when arranging construction of the building.” It made sense, but Hal found himself straining to attempt to make out even a faint fragment of conversation anyway. “Given what I know of Dirk.”

 

A pause.

 

“Which is not perhaps, as much as it should be, I am not particularly optimistic that it is going well. At present.”

 

He winces.

 

“You're right.”

 

“I often am. About which thing in particular?”

 

“Trying to get Dirk to reach out was an onerous task. When I first set aside time to really consider the logistics, my estimation for first purposeful contact was far more optimistic than reality turned out to be. Dude's about as outgoing as a particularly recalcitrant koala.”

 

“Or,” Kanaya pulls the needle through, dextrously flips it, and makes another stitch in brilliant green, “you simply didn't try hard enough.”

 

Hal's frown deepens, and his fingers clench.

 

“I spent a fuckin' outrageous, near countless amount of hours trying to reason with him. Well, I could actually count them, if you want, but the exact number seems irrelevant to-”

 

“Did it occur to you to just ask Rose to come over?” Kanaya smiles as Hal falls immediately silent, and watches his face contort between her stitches.

 

“I did not think so.”

 

“We don't really, get visitors that often.” He eventually replies, somewhat lamely.

 

“If a physical visit would have been taxing, neither of you are strangers to digital communication.”

 

The smile widens, showing off more fang.

 

Hal winces when the needle is pushed through the fabric again.

 

“Roxy talks about you both quite often, and I can assume as she is not inclined to mysticism these days she does not get her information via divination. Although I suppose maybe at one point she would have been able to pull it all from nothing.” She pauses at that for a moment, then returns to her task. “And while bugging your hiveblock would be entirely within her purvue, given that many of her stories involve direct interaction with you both we have assumed that actual contact does occur. Likewise with Dave. And John. And even, Karkat.”

 

“I-”

 

“So.” She ties off and sets down her work. The words _'Violence committed toward employees of this establishment will be returned fivefold'_ are surrounded by elegantly embroidered ferns. Hal's shoulders bunch as the silence extends. “See what I did there. I turned your original conversation opening back on you. It's uncomfortable, isn't it?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Maybe don't do that next time and the resultant conversation will also be less uncomfortable.” Kanaya puts away her supplies, and finally turns her full attention to him. “The short of what I am getting at with this diatribe is that while Dirk plays no small part in the situation of wilful estrangement and social isolation, you also kind of fucked up more than a little bit.”

 

“It seems I did.” Hal's fingers twist around themselves, and his circuits are dull. “I dropped the ball. Or really, I threw the ball. It probably crashed through the window of an orphanage and gave some poor kid a concussion and a phobia that'd crush a fledgeling interest in professional basketball. This jackass over here putting the next Big Man out on the bench before he ever has a chance to feel the court under his feet. Twenty years in the future there'll be a global crisis that only Mitchell Jordin can resolve with a crack team of beloved animated characters and the people will look for their savior and find a microbiologist instead. Their deaths will be on my hands that day-”

 

 

“Maybe the lack of contact was beneficial actually.” Kanaya grins as Hal's voice trails off. “If the crisis is viral in nature, albeit unconventionally, then perhaps a microbiologist is precisely what is called for, and you will have saved us all.”

 

That startles a laugh from him, and his posture relaxes a little.

 

“Do not take on all the blame for the situation. We also could also have been more proactive in seeking contact.”

 

“There's a 89.67% chance that any way things could have played out would still be horrendously awkward for all concerned.” Hal sighs, leaning back against the soft couch.

 

“That would be because we all have crippling anxiety, and a notorious inability to believe that our company is desired and in fact welcomed by our peers. In short: cognition is a fuck.”

 

“Are you sure you don't work here?”

 

Kanaya shudders.

 

“I considered attempting to study for the relevant qualifications when Rose announced her intentions but I have entirely had my fill of meddling with the lives of others when there are any stakes higher than personal relationships involved. I simply do not have the energy or temprement required to get involved in the lives of random humans and trolls and remain professional.”

 

Hal nods. Then his mouth twists into a line of consternation.

 

“Do you think she can? Remain professional, I mean.”

 

“Oh absolutely. Rose would never allow any personal grudges to get in the way of her duty.” Hal lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, only to sharply suck it back in when she keeps talking. “However I fully believe she would leverage them in order to get the desired result.”

 

"I don't even have to look to know that's hideously unethical." Something he knew was probably needed. Drawing blood from a stone would always require some suspect work. Still, the cheerful smile on the troll's face was unsettling.

 

"Yes." Kanaya sighs wistfully, expression fond. “She's ruthless.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“What the flying fuck are those.” Dirk's voice is dead, expression blank. His eyes behind his shades are wide with sheer terror.

 

Rose smiles, serene, as she holds up the miniature replica of Lil' Cal alongside the tiny puppet version of himself.

 

“I didn't think I would need to run you through the basic processes of taking visual information and converting it to thoughts but if we must start from the very beginning, I suppose it can't be helped.”

 

“Rose, can you cut the shit for five seconds?” Dirk crosses his legs, uncrosses them, stands up and starts to pace. “I thought you were going to try to help me or something, rather than spend an hour flaying me alive. Which – I understand why! I'm a piece of shit! I certainly deserve this for my utter failure at participating in the basic social contract of communicating with my relatives, especially when I have the multi-causality spanning history with them that we do, fucking forged into a sword that would have made Damocles go fucking bald to see hanging over my head at all times. Do you think I'm not aware of how much I fucking suck?”

He points at the tiny Cal, voice ever so slightly quavering.

“Do you think I don't know what I was directly responsible for vis-à-vis that asshole? Because I sure do! I wish I didn't, but if I had a pony for every mistake I wish I didn't make I could cover the whole of Texas in premium horseflesh. That might be a sight sweet enough to let me grab more than five hours of actual sleep rather than daisy chaining from nightmare to nightmare without even the bonus of a kickin' accessory at the end.”

 

“It seems you are upset.” Rose says, crossing her legs and setting the puppets down to sit on her knees. She turns their heads so they both stare at him.

 

“Do not fuckin' “it seems” me right now oh my god. Did Hal plan this out with you? Is that what's going on? Was this all some fuckin' theatrical plan to sit me down and hold me to some grand accounting for all my sins? If that's the case I don't think you've got a stone tablet big enough, we're gonna need to channel the spirit of Ea-Nasir's pissed off customers for this and write a goddamn litany. My cuneiform's a bit rusty but if ya'll want me to sit out in the sun and inscribe each of my fuck-ups and display them in a goddamn museum I guess I'll have to get back into practice.”

 

Rose rummages around in a bag at her feet, seemingly unperturbed by his freak-out. Dirk catches his breath, shoulders heaving, and sits down again. He puts his head in his hands, uncaring of his hair now.

 

“What do you fucking want from me, Rose? I get it. I'm sorry.”

 

“It...appears,” Rose replies eventually, pulling a pair of scissors out of her bag, “that you have many complex feelings stirred up so far in the session.” The bag falls over, revealing several skeins of wool, some needles, and a closed box.

 

“Did you even listen to me?”

 

“Oh, every word. The pertinent question is if you listened to _yourself_.” Rose holds up the Dirk-Puppet. “Let's examine those expressed feelings, shall we?” 

 

Then, in a single swift motion, she cuts off the head of his effigy with a snap of her scissors and it lands in her lap, tiny shades clattering to the floor.

 

Dirk's jaw drops, and he opens a chat window on his shades with a tiny flex of thought. 

 

** \-- timaeusTestified[TT] began bothering timaeusTranscribed [TT] at 2:25 - - **

 

** TT: Hal you've killed me. You've trapped me behind two airlocks with a fucking serial killer. My blood is on your hands. **

 

** [This message has failed to send. Try again? Y/N] **

 

** TT: Y **

 

** [This message has failed to send. Please check network status.] **

 

** \-- timaeusTestified[TT] ceased bothering timaeusTranscribed [TT] at 2:25 – **

 

Sure enough, there are no wifi connections available. Dirk's heart skips a beat. This has never happened to him before. Not once in his life, even when he lived in the middle of a goddamn apocalyptic ice-melt ocean, had he ever been forced into a situation where the fucking wifi was out.

 

“This is inhumane,” he says, and Rose laughs.

 

“You're right, I suppose. But are we even really human anymore to begin with? If the Geneva Convention still existed, would it apply to demi-gods?” She picks up the small box from her knitting bag, opens it, and withdraws a pair of tweezers. “We might not be able to fly, or rip souls from flesh anymore.” The severed head is picked up, tweezers inserted at the neck stump. “But our problems shape this reality nonetheless.” A tightly coiled scroll of paper is withdrawn, and Rose uncoils it on her clipboard. “And the most vocal one demonstrated there would be...” A brief scribble, and she turns the paper around to show him the word 'self-loathing' written in looping cursive. “A poor gift for a fledgling universe.”

 

“Yeah, I know I have the gold medal in hating myself. I have to fight Karkat for it sometimes, but I'm fairly sure I have that Olympic event on lock. That's nothing new. Why the fuck is there no wifi?”

 

“Because, Dirk.” Rose re-furls the little slip of paper, sets it aside on her clipboard. “We are of a kind. Relentlessly introspective, not liking most of what we find. Accepting it on only the surface level and then desperately trying not to think about our discoveries and their implications for our wider social development. And while I found escape from the cursed task of self-improvement in the bottom of a bottle in several timelines, yours came through digital and metaphysical escapism, through fracturing your sense of self so profoundly that you were able to delegate the basic emotional operating processes of a normal person to different shards of yourself. None of them particularly thankful for their duties, from what I understand.”

She pulls another slip of paper from the skull of tiny Dirk.

“So. Let's talk about your, I think you call them 'splinters'? That's how Roxy described them. But really, I think we both know the real truth here. Let's talk about your puppets.”

 

She writes “disassociation” down on the next slip of paper and shows it to him.

 

Dirk pushes back against the couch, his tank top feeling damp under the arms and on his back from sweat.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I recognize now, that I was somewhat remiss in how I started our conversation, one word opener aside.” Hal crosses his legs, idly kicking one heeled foot. “Since we haven't actually...spoken, before, I should have introduced myself.”

 

“I am aware of who you are. Distantly, in the way that someone might be aware of a moirail's matesprit's kismesis, but there is a name attached to the concept of you as an individual in my thinkpan.” Kanaya looks up from her magazine, and then applies a coat of jade lipstick. Her outfit flickers, then changes to a colourful two piece suit from a simple dress.

 

“That does make it slightly less awkward than if I'd been rambling about alternate-universe Space Jam to someone who had no idea who I was.”

 

“Even if I were not obliged to know of Rose's familial connections via our marriage, I would know of you from. The sprite incident. And the puppet incident.” Her nose wrinkles a little. Hal stops kicking his foot up and down. “I am referring to them as incidents in order to make it clear that I find both rather distasteful and would prefer to discuss neither at this time, in case there is any confusion about my motivations for that choice of word.

 

“Those would have each been rather poor first impressions, yeah.” Suddenly awkward, Hal runs his fingers through his hair. Strands of synthetic white flop down over his face, and his circuits dull. The silence extends before Kanaya tilts her head at him.

 

“So were you going to introduce yourself or is it a habit of yours to proclaim that you should have done things and then not actually do them?”

 

He startles, laughs.

 

“I'm Hal. Still haven't settled on if I'm going to use a last name or embrace the calling of single-named celebrities.”

 

“I think more people would need to know who you are in order to qualify for that status.” Kanaya sets the magazine down on the table, and smiles. “Taking it one person at a time is a decidedly methodical approach to cultivating celebrity but I suppose when you do not have to worry about death like most others you can afford that sort of tactic. To return my half of the social contract, I am Kanaya Maryam-Lalonde.”

 

Hal extends his hand, and she takes it. A brisk and firm shake is exchanged, and Hal can feel the potential strength in her grip. It's not every day he meets someone who could probably crush his chassis like tissue paper.

 

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, madame.” He does a half bow in his seat, and she snickers.

 

“And yours.”

 

For a while, the silence is companionable. It's a welcome relief from the stuffy, tense atmosphere both had found themselves in when they initially sat down to wait after the last airlock sealed behind Dirk and Rose.

 

Eventually, Kanaya shifts in her seat.

 

“So, you certainly appear to have a dedicated aesthetic.” She gestures at his black bodysuit, the heavy armored chest plating with the neon red shades insignia. The red legwarmers. “I was caught somewhat by surprise at how troll-like your ensemble is.”

 

“Troll culture had a fairly intense role in my social development.” Hal looks down at himself, frowns a little. “I took it upon myself while still confined to eye-wear to do as much research as I could into Alternian history and cultural practices in order to give Dirk and Roxy something of an edge in our previous environment. Some details were easy enough to find from what the Empress put out into the world while trying to mold humanity in her image, the rest I had to dig up from records on her ship.” His frown deepens. “I hadn't really given much thought to how that influenced my fashion choices when I finally obtained this rockin' bod.”

 

“While it is certainly a look, it is a little predictable don't you think?” She leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. “Though do not get me wrong, I do enjoy the flair of the legwarmers. But the lack of patterning aside from your sign is a little depressing.”

 

Hal's eyebrows raise, and he gestures down at himself.

  
“I thought it was fun.”

 

“Oh dear.” Kanaya pulls a sketch pad from a bag at her feet, and squints at him. “Did it occur to you that you could wear something other than black and red. Your colouring would suit a wide variety of palettes. You are something of a blank canvas.”

 

“I didn't want to _clash_.” Hal crosses his arms, lips twisting into a pout. “Besides, have you seen my competition? I'm wearing fuckin' couture compared to Mr. “tank top and black jeans work for formal occasions, right” in there.”

 

“That doesn't mean that your own personal standards have to be so low.” Kanaya pokes him in the leg. “Stand up.”

 

“What, why?”

 

“Because it is becoming increasingly apparent that you are something of a disaster and I refuse to allow you to leave this place without at least a few ideas for other things that you can wear. I am not having you attend another party this year in that outfit.”

 

“What's wrong with it for parties? It's formal enough, I thought.”

 

“Oh my god.” Kanaya covers her face with her hands, her skin starting to glow a little under the surface. “Yes, Hal, if the party happens to be a funeral.” She pokes him again, harder this time. “Stand. Up. I am going to fix this.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

“I really don't see what pulling pieces of paper out of the severed head of my effigy and writing things on them is gonna do for me.”

 

Rose pulls out another piece of paper. She writes 'skeptical' on it, shows him like she did the others, and puts it in the now-pile of tiny scrolls.

 

“Isn't that what you've been doing all your life?” She folds her hands over her knees, fixing him with a piercing stare. “Compartmentalizing, thrusting assignments of traits and duties onto a fractured part of your being so you don't have them rattling around in your brain?”

 

“Okay, look-”

 

“You created a copy of your own mind to act as your answering machine. A different you, to handle the task of socialization with your friends while you were busy. He's sitting outside now, clearly having developed a separate identity and sense of self. It doesn't take a doctorate to put two and two together and conclude that must have stung a little when you realized that was occurring.”

 

Dirk recoils like she had socked him in the jaw.

 

“I don't want to talk about that.” Memories of glass splintering under his hands, threats, the flash of terror in Hal's eyes the first time they had an argument after he got his body and thought Dirk was going to kill him. Memories of himself while still stranded on the ruined Earth, sagged against the wall in the shower, staring at his rusting razor and wondering if his friends would even notice if he never spoke to them himself again. Shoving the android in a spate of self-hatred. Hal's arms around him. Hal helping ground him.

 

Dirk takes off his shades, turns them over in his hands. The light in the room is too bright, but he just squints as he runs his thumb over the glass, leaving a smear behind.

 

“Do you love him?” The question hangs in the air between them. Dirk doesn't answer, his shoulders hunch. “It's easier to love something like you but different, than it is to love yourself. It's also a lot harder. It's far easier to hate that reflection of yourself that you see.”

 

Slowly, he nods.

 

“Are you jealous of him?”

 

“Fucking, of course I am.” Dirk looks up, finally. His hair is a wild mess around his face, expression distraught. “I hate that I am, but how could I not be?” Dirk's nails dig into his palms. Rose tosses a cushion at him.

 

“Use that instead.”

 

He stares at it for a moment before picking it up and holding it against his stomach. His shoulders slowly relax.

 

“I didn't. Mean for it to go so far, when I made him. I was a fuckin' arrogant idiot of a kid. I was planning years in advance for shit to go down when we were all finally ready to enter the game, I was so convinced that only I would be able to keep everyone _alive._ I didn't have time to talk. But I knew just vanishing or not responding would be a dick move, so. I made a bad call. I could have programmed an auto-responder but I didn't want...to let them down.”

 

“And how do you feel that worked out?” Rose is scribbling notes on her clipboard again.

 

“Considering how often I wanted to fuckin' die because I felt like I couldn't talk to my friends properly anymore, not well? It was like, by the time the game started, he knew them better than I did.”

 

“Did he?”

 

Dirk is silent for a long while before he replies, and when he does it's a tiny nod.

 

“Who did you blame, for that?” Gone is the taunting malice from earlier, Rose sets down her pen again and fixes him in place with a far gentler stare than before.

 

“Hal.” Dirk shakes his head, flips over the glasses in his hands again. “Only on the surface, I guess. I knew I was the one at fault, I just didn't want to admit it. So I pulled back from everyone even more. Started blaming him every time a conversation went south with the others. 'Specially Jake.” He sags in his seat, fatigue weighting him down. “I guess it would have really fucking sucked to be him. Having a crush on the guy while knowing he was just a stand-in for me. And Jake treated him like ass whenever he found out he wasn't talking to me.”

 

“Interesting.” Rose makes another note. “You've talked about these topics with him extensively, I can assume?”

 

“Yeah. Not the Jake thing, so much.”

 

“How do you feel about those conversations?”

 

He shrugs.

 

“They went a lot like this. Not the puppet mutilation, but the rest is on track.”

 

“So Hal has been acting as something of a stand-in for professional help, then. I can assume because you were reluctant to seek aid?” He nods. Another piece of paper, labelled 'stubborn'. “And your other selves, you were a lot less directly connected to most of them, yes?” Another nod. “Tell me about the thing Roxy called “brain-ghost Dirk.””

 

“Oh, god.” He sighs, rubs his eyes. “I don't really know what the fuck was going on there. Jake manifesting his perception of me with his hope shit. Sometimes I could take the reins if he believed enough in me or something.”

 

“What do you think of Jake's perception of you?” Rose leans back in her chair. She's been filling out more scrolls from the puppet Dirk's head the whole time, he just hasn't been paying enough attention to see what was on most of them. The pile is large. The small Lil' Cal is laid across her lap.

 

“I, he, was an asshole. But, then. That part is accurate.” Dirk puts his shades back on. “He was also a lot more emotionally direct than me, I guess. I don't know whether Jake got that part from Hal or not, or if it was just what he wished I was like.”

 

“Do you still have feelings for Jake?” Rose tilts her head and Dirk recoils again. “I am certainly not here in a professional capacity to cast judgement on the state of your love life, Dirk. I may disapprove of the way you've handled yourself in some regards, but I don't presume to do that.”

 

“Fuck, I mean. I don't know. He's my friend. I don't know if I even have the right to say that anymore seeing as I've spent the past six and a half years trying to interact with him as little as possible, but I still think of him as one.”

A sigh, and he reaches out to make use of a water bottle and glass on the table in front of him. Settles back, staring at the plain white ceiling.

“He just...we had one talk, on that platform outside the door, and he seemed to expect that to fix everything. I don't know if he really did or not, but he just went back to talking to me like he used too. We played soccer one time and I spent the entire day waiting for him to kick the ball at my goddamn head. Hoping he would. He should hate me. He didn't yell at me once. I just couldn't keep waiting for it, it was driving me insane.”

 

“So his easy forgiveness makes you uncomfortable.”

 

“Yeah. I wouldn't forgive myself like he did.”

 

“Do you feel like you deserve forgiveness at all, Dirk?” No response. Rose opens the little box again, pulls out a scalpel. “You're carrying a great many negative feelings.” She scoots her chair over to the table between them, and tucking the scalpel behind her ear pulls off its little tank top.

 

“Please tell me that thing is not anatomically correct.” Dirk stares down at two embroidered nipples and feels his face turn slowly beet red.

 

“I was tempted, but I prefer not to make things weird.” Rose draws a little dotted line down the torso of the puppet. Dirk stares at her.

 

“This isn't weird for you?”

 

“Not really.”

 

“What the fuck is wrong with our family.”

 

“That's the subject for another session, I think.” She takes the scalpel and slowly slices down the dotted line she has made. Dirk stares, transfixed, as fabric separates and plush stuffing slowly puffs out of the gash. It was oddly cathartic. “Now. Let's see what we have here.” The scrolls are placed down beside the puppet, along with the blade. She unfurls one. “Anger. You carry a lot of that.” The scroll is wound back up, and pushed into the puppet cavity. “Depression.” Slotted in alongside. She repeats the process for every scroll she reads out. “Disassociation. Self-loathing. Suicidal ideation. You're skeptical, stubborn. Withdrawn. Anxious. Stressed.”

 

The puppet bulges as each scroll is added, until it's a bloated, straining thing that make's Dirk's skin scrawl to look at it. Without warning, Rose grabs the scalpel again and plunges it into the chest of the Cal puppet. She drags it down, reaches in and pulls out a scroll the size of her hand. She unfurls it and reveals the word 'Guilt', done up in elegant actual-ass calligraphy. Then she stuffs that into the Dirk puppet, about the same size as the scroll she's trying to push into its torso, until with a popping and tearing sound the seams down the side give way and stuffing flies out to land in both their laps.

 

Dirk stares at the little tufts of fluff. A vein pulses in the side of his neck.

 

“Don't you think that's a little much to be carrying around inside you all the time?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Do you really think I could pull off green?” Hal stares in vague consternation at the sketch pad in Kanaya's hands.  
  
“It would need to be a warm green of course, unless you are willing to experiment with altering the colours of your circuitry, but there is no reason it would not look good on you. It is basic colour theory. Accept it into your blood-pusher and allow me to show you a future with considerably less drab fashion that is in store for you.”

 

“Hm, interesting.”

 

She taps her pen at a different sketch.

 

“White, of course, would work. It could make you look considerably more delicate in build depending on the cut of the suit, however. Navy blue. Orange. Really you could wear any colour you wanted if you had the confidence to carry it off. And if you are really inextricably married to black and red I could certainly accommodate that but I would do it with pursed lips and a frown in order to express my annoyance at your lack of desire to try new things.”

 

“It seems you think I am not delighted at this opportunity to experiment with textiles.” Hal grins. “I'm a touch overwhelmed, it's not like I was expecting a personalized fashion consultation when I sat down in this waiting room to worry for an hour. But according to my impeccable calculations, there is a 100% chance that anything you design for me to wear would look goddamn spectacular.”

 

“Flatterer.” She digs her elbow into his waist even as she smiles. “But you would be correct with those doubtless totally real and not at all bullshit calculations.”

 

“Of course. There is a reason your brand is in such high demand around the world, celebrity conferred by godhood aside. I won't even bother consulting my algorithms when it's fuckin' plain to see that when it comes to fashion, you're simply the best there is.” Hal winks, and a dull green blush suffuses Kanaya's cheeks.

 

“Yes, well. That is very kind of you to say.”

 

“Hand on my robotic heart, I speak only the truth.” Kanaya shoves him a little, and he sprawls back on the couch and laughs. “Alright, alright. I'll stop laying down the truth quite so thickly. I think we've already started paving the road of friendship, wouldn't do to make the cement too claggy to work with as we start this process of community improvement.”

 

“Is there anyone in your family who doesn't talk like that or does Dirk do it too?”

 

“Sorry, it's something of a curse. We've always been full of horseshit.”

 

“Oh do not misunderstand me. It is a good time to just settle back and listen to some fantastic horseshit for a few minutes every now and then. I enjoy it. It is amusing to know that this is a trait that has carried across universes and embedded itself in the genetics of each of them and also persisted through the circumstances of your creation and self-actualization.” She purses her lips, then taps the sleek suit white suit design with dark green lapels that they'd been originally discussing. “I am still very fond of this one.”

 

“It certainly cuts a very dashing figure. Would I be able to wear my pressure suit beneath it?”

 

“I see no reason why not. If you can tolerate a version without pressure around the throat and give it a t-shirt cut, you can wear a black dress shirt on top and it will just look as though you are wearing black gloves.” Kanaya makes a few changes, then mutters under her breath for a moment. “We could always try a scarf if you can't do without the typical suit.”

 

“I'd be willing to try your suggestion.” Hal looks down at his feet, then taps at the drawing. “Would the heels work?”

 

“Of course.” She pauses. “I admit I was somewhat surprised by your footwear choice, since I am given to understand that human males often had a lot of hangups about oddly gendered clothes.”

 

“I like what they do for my legs. Besides, when you spend a good eight years of your existence as a disembodied digital construct, it seems silly to hold onto the constructions of a society you can't partake in, even indirectly. Then when you get your own body, it's in a different universe where many of the same cultural associations never developed. Dirk cares significantly more about matching up to those old ideals than I do. Which is ironic, given some of his other attitudes.”

 

“Well. In that case. How would you feel about a dress?”  
  
“Kanaya,” Hal puts his hand over the top of hers, grinning like a fool. “Have I not already established that I am buckled into this ride until the end of the line. You could drive us off a fashion cliff and bring out the fun fur and I would still be willing to try out whatever horrifying avant-garde creation you trotted out.”

 

“Please do not say the words 'fun fur' in my presence.”

 

“Noted! But the point remains that you could suggest anything from a tasteful turtleneck to a latex horse suit and I would be down to try it the fuck out.”

 

“Please also do not say the words 'latex horse suit' in my presence.” Kanaya is grinning though, glowing merrily. Her light is matched by the excited flaring of Hal's circuitry. “Although that would certainly be an interesting experiment to see if it would be possible to cause Equius to pass out from sheer mortification and whatever other strange emotion such a sight would cause him to feel in his blood-pusher.”

 

“There is a 76.56% chance that he would just actually die.”

 

“I feel willing to accept that risk.”

 

“Cold.”

 

“Yes, he would be.”

 

“Death by glamour wouldn't be a bad way to go. Has a nice ring to it too.”

 

“It does. I should launch a new collection.” The spark of inspiration makes her glow brighten for a moment before she flushes again and takes a breath, returning her skin to its normal grey. Hal takes the pen from her for a moment, writing his chumhandle on the corner of the sketch pad.

 

“That sounds fuckin' baller. Please let me know when you do.”

 


End file.
